


give away the game

by thingswithwings



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Dirty Talk, Face-Fucking, Giving Orders, Held Down, Implied abusive past relationships, Inexperienced Dom, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Negotiated kink, Teasing, Under-negotiated Kink, d/s dynamics, just a nice story about these two makin it work, very experienced sub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 10:46:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18467380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingswithwings/pseuds/thingswithwings
Summary: “So, it occurs to me that I was making some assumptions,” David says, when Patrick opens the door.“Okay,” Patrick says.“About our sex life,” David explains.Patrick raises an eyebrow and leans one shoulder against the door frame. He looks relaxed and ironic, but David can see the little blush splashed across his cheeks. “You’re sure this is a conversation you want to have out in the hallway?”





	give away the game

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to eruthros for betaing this for me, even though she isn't in the fandom and has to be reminded which one is David and which one is Patrick. <3 Thanks also to lettered for giving me a lot of cheerleading and encouragement throughout the writing process. And for being the first one to make me think about David Rose and spreader bars.

They’re skin to skin, and David’s grinding down against Patrick’s thighs, restless, so turned on he can barely think; Patrick, beneath him, is writhing, meeting him thrust for thrust, and when David looks in his eyes there’s fire there, fire and hunger, like Patrick wants to fucking _consume_ him. David can’t tear his gaze away, and as he blinks down Patrick grins up at him wildly, flashing teeth, before hooking a leg around David’s, gripping his arm tight, and flipping them over in one rough push.

His breath is nearly knocked out of him as he lands on his back, and Patrick doesn’t give him any time to recover, leaning down to bite his collarbone with those sharp little white teeth. Their thrusting gets harder, rougher, and it’s just messy uncoordinated friction but it feels so goddamn _intense_ ; David throws back his head and groans and holds on to Patrick’s shoulders tight as he can.

“Yeah? You like that?” Patrick gasps. David’s not sure if he means the frotting or the flipping or the Patrick being on top but he loves it all, so he nods up at him and gets out a breathy “Yes, yes.”

“Good,” Patrick says, and takes David’s dick in his hand. His grip is tight and slick from the lube; David feels his body arch up into it.

“Tell me ― God, Patrick ― tell me you’re gonna hold me down and make me take your cock,” David pants, no longer even thinking about the words coming out of his mouth, just thinking about Patrick’s weight on him and Patrick’s relentless rhythm and Patrick’s gorgeous, strong, solid body ― 

“Um,” Patrick says, and stops moving.

A couple minutes later, they’re lying side by side, arms brushing lightly together and blankets pulled up to their chins, as David’s once promising erection softens agonizingly slowly. 

“So. It’s not. It’s not that I don’t want to,” Patrick begins, looking up at the ceiling.

*

 _Taking it slow_ was not David’s forte, but for Patrick, he learned: learned how to make out with him softly and endlessly in the front seat of Patrick’s car; how to run his hands up Patrick’s thighs over the top of his practical, ugly jeans while they waited gasping in the backroom of the store for the bell to ring and interrupt them; how to bite his lip and wait for Patrick to come to him, for Patrick to make the first move, for Patrick to feel comfortable wrapping his hand around David’s neck and bringing his mouth down for a kiss. 

That was the best part, the part he replayed in his fantasies afterwards. He dwelled on the memory of Patrick’s strong sure fingers against the back of his neck; he thought about Patrick’s confidence as he used his thumb to tilt David’s jaw to the right position; he shivered remembering the moment when Patrick’s mouth took his, when Patrick’s desire for him was unmistakable and overwhelming. 

In their shared bed in Patrick’s new apartment, months later, Patrick is blushing. “I don’t ― I’ve never ―”

David nods emphatically, looking away, because that much is _very_ clear. 

“No one’s really asked me for that before,” Patrick finishes, determined. “What ― what do you mean, make you?”

David closes his eyes in sheer, overwhelming embarrassment. He wishes he could turn back the clock, so they could get back to the rough, beautiful, aggressive sex they’d been having without having to talk about it. 

He clears his throat and opens his eyes again. “Um. So, we can forget I said anything ―” When he glances over, he sees all kinds of uncertainty in the tight press of Patrick’s lips and the furrow of his brow. David forces himself to take a little breath and touches his fingers to the place between Patrick’s eyebrows, stroking there. He’s touched Patrick there so many times. Touched him everywhere. He frowns, then speaks again.

“I like being . . . submissive. Not being in control. I like you being in control of me. You could make me do things, and I would like that.” _Like_ is a pretty mild word for it, but it’s all David can manage to say to Patrick’s worried face. He clears his throat again. “I thought you knew.”

“Oh,” Patrick says, faintly.

After they’d started having sex, David had gotten more comfortable, felt a little more within his own wheelhouse again. Patrick wasn’t shy in bed, and he was open to trying different positions and learning new things. The way he’d moaned low, ground his dick down against the sheets, and then proceeded to _fucking lose it_ when David rimmed him for the first time had certainly been gratifying to watch. The sensation of him shaking his way through his orgasm, the first time he had his dick in David’s ass, had been wild and intense, made David feel wild and intense too. The fevered light in his wide brown eyes every time they kissed, every time they fucked, just made David want to give him more: more sex, and more queer revelations, yes, but also: more of himself. It made him careless.

The problem, David reflects, as he cowers beneath the sheets and waits for Patrick to say something else, _anything_ else, is that he got too comfortable.

*

Feeling comfortable is even less familiar than taking it slow. He’s never felt the way he feels with Patrick: he wakes up in the morning unsurprised to see Patrick beside him, and throughout the day he kisses him absently, mindlessly, to say hello or goodbye, no longer wondering _is this the last time he’ll ever kiss me_. David catches himself thinking about taking a trip together next summer, or the summer after that, or about which holidays should be spent where, and what’s even weirder is that it feels normal to think those thoughts.

David thought their sex life was becoming like that too, like a dance they both knew the steps to, where they were comfortable together. He had thought they were getting more and more comfortable together.

Still waiting for Patrick to say something, he feels his gut twist up in anxious worry. He’d gone too far, too fast, he’d pushed Patrick and soured something between them. But he could’ve sworn that they’d been heading here. 

_I thought you liked taking control in bed,_ David wants to say; or maybe, even more belligerently: _Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed this between us._ He considers pleading: _Isn’t this what you want?_ and he considers saying all the things he knows are the right things to say: _I’m sorry if I pushed you_ and _We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do_ and _We should talk about this._

The seconds tick by and Patrick doesn’t say anything and David’s stomach continues to knot itself up with every passing breath.

“We should talk about this,” he manages, eventually, when he can’t bear the silence anymore. 

“Okay,” Patrick agrees, almost immediately, as if his stomach was twisted up too, as if he’d been waiting for David to speak first. David finds room in his chest to take a deep breath again, and turns over on his side, facing Patrick, who’s still staring at the ceiling.

“David, I don’t. I don’t know if I can. Say that kind of stuff, do that kind of stuff. I. Have you ― have you been wanting that? From me?”

“Sometimes,” David says. His jaw tightens and shame washes through him as he imagines all the things that Patrick might think about the kind of stuff David wants. David stopped caring what the world thought about his sexuality and proclivities a long time ago, but he cares far too much about what Patrick thinks about him to be having this conversation. He wishes he were wearing his clothes. His biggest, baggiest sweater. And some sunglasses. Instead he’s naked, and his naked skin is brushing against Patrick’s naked skin next to him, and he’s gazing into Patrick’s eyes and letting Patrick gaze into his and he feels deeply, painfully exposed.

“Okay,” Patrick says slowly. “I might need more to go on than that.”

David buries his face in his hands, talks from behind his palms. “Fine, I’ll send you an itemized list of my kinks, sorted by preference, and you can tell me which ones are too gross for you to put up with.”

He feels Patrick recoil, pulling away from him, which was of course the point of David saying what he said. The desired result. He regrets it immediately. But then they’re skin to skin again, Patrick’s hand on his back.

“Hey, I didn’t mean that,” he says, awkwardly. “I’m just ― not used to this. To any of this.”

 _You’re already plenty used to it,_ David wants to shout, because it’s not like Patrick’s never held David’s shoulders down against the mattress, or left fingerprint bruises on his hips after fucking him wild and fast and hard. That little wrestling move he did ten minutes ago is a case in point. David’s slowly realizing the difference, though: he’s never asked Patrick to say it out loud before. It reminds him forcefully of all the people who treated him like a dirty little secret, who wanted him bad enough to fuck him but didn’t want anyone to know about the filthy shit they got up to behind closed doors.

He hates that feeling. And suddenly, every single memory he has that’s associated with that feeling starts flipping through his head like a terrible clip show montage. All the times he wasn’t good enough to actually acknowledge. He knows, deep down, that Patrick isn’t like all the others, but the memories keep flashing behind his eyes anyway. Why’d he have to say it out loud. Why couldn’t he have controlled himself.

That thought is chased by a cold, clear dismay as he realizes that, by saying it out loud, David might’ve killed his chances of ever actually doing any of that stuff again. So much for _honesty_ in _relationships_.

David purses his lips against all the contradictory, angry, pleading words that want to explode out of him. “All right,” he says, instead. 

Patrick runs a soft hand down David’s shoulder. “I think . . . I think that I need some time to think. I need to work through it all.” 

David nods against the pillow. So, more torturous waiting, then. “That’s fine,” he says. Hoping to hell that he hasn’t completely broken things between them, he leans over and kisses Patrick. Patrick, to his relief, kisses him back, but even so it’s a long time before David feels comfortable enough to sleep.

*

They tiptoe around each other the next morning, kissing perfunctorily, the tension between them reminiscent of the days when all of this was new and fragile, when Patrick smiled and ducked his head if David kissed him on the cheek. Perversely, that distance makes David notice again all the things he’d noticed about Patrick back when they’d first met: the easy way he carries himself with his shoulders wide and relaxed, the way he teases mercilessly, the way he doesn’t let David get away with anything. 

Less than twelve hours after their weird bedroom disaster, Patrick rolls his eyes and gives David shit for over-ordering the moisturizer he likes just so he can take the extra home with him. The knowing, gently mocking tone in Patrick’s voice ignites a little frisson of heat that rolls over David’s skin until he gets himself together enough to roll his eyes back and say something about his value as an elite product tester. It feels good for a second until it’s followed by a wave of shame and self-doubt: _What if this is too much for him. What if I’m too much for him._

He’d hoped he’d left those thoughts behind months ago.

Other than Stevie, Patrick’s the only person David’s ever met who was fast enough, smart enough, sarcastic enough to keep up with him. To keep him on his toes. He’s definitely the first one David’s ever truly trusted with that power. 

As David cleans the stock room and listens to Patrick make polite chit-chat with a customer, he remembers the time, after Stevie had lent them her apartment but long before they had anything like permanent private space, when Patrick had slammed him up against the wall, against this wall right here in the back room of the store, and kissed him hungrily, his hands tight and strong holding David’s upper arms in place. Patrick isn’t physically intimidating but he moves like he is, like he knows that he is, and in that moment David had felt it, that particular kind of strength, in the way Patrick put David’s body just exactly where he wanted it. David presses his palm to the wall, briefly, remembering.

He wants to feel that again. Manhandled. Desired. 

As the day goes on and he and Patrick keep not talking about it, that possibility feels increasingly out of reach. 

*

At the end of the day, they close the shop together, and David’s brought back again to the early days of their relationship, all the tense, anxious, well-what-are-we-going-to-do-now moments before they’d settled in with each other. Patrick turns off the lights, leaving just the front display window illuminated, and in the dim glow David can’t make out Patrick’s expression. 

“Busy day,” David says. 

“It was,” Patrick agrees. 

David takes a deep breath. If Patrick’s going to ― whatever, break up with him or tell him he’s disgusting ― he’d rather it happened sooner than later. “So, do you want to get a pizza, or . . . ?” 

“Uh, it’s ― remember Ray’s hosting that local businesses networking dinner tonight? I said I’d go.”

David raises his eyebrows. “Please tell me that I did not say that I would go.”

Patrick’s smile is soft and genuine. “No. No, I thought you’d probably spontaneously come down with the plague if faced with the prospect of making small talk with Bob all night.”

David holds his hand up in front of his mouth and makes the tiniest of coughs. Patrick laughs. David smiles; he loves his laugh. He’s so fucking hopeless.

“Yeah, checks out. It is a good networking opportunity, though, you know. We could put brochures or posters in some of the places around town.”

Nodding seriously, David says, “It sounds like a really important job for our business manager.”

“Really? It doesn’t sound like the creative side of the job to you?”

“No, for some reason, no.”

Patrick steps toward him and kisses him, their first real kiss of the day. David closes his eyes. Patrick’s fingertips touch lightly against his jaw. Tentative. David aches at the gentle brush of skin, wishing Patrick would touch him the way he used to, firm and unhesitating.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess,” David says. “I mean. Sounds like it’ll be a real rager.”

“Oh, I have to assume so. Ray said something about bagel bites.” 

David forces a little smile. It’s their usual light banter, but it’s also not; David feels a weight dragging behind their words. They step outside and lock the door, then Patrick pecks him on the lips and walks away.

He considers calling Stevie, but decides to get dinner with his mother instead; that way, he figures, he won’t have to talk about himself. Stevie has a way of glancing into his face and seeing into his soul, which he absolutely loathes about her.

His mother still asks about Patrick, though, which puts him on the defensive.

“Patrick’s great, we’re great,” David says, perhaps a trifle too emphatically. His mother raises an expressive eyebrow at him. 

“David, I hope that you are treating that young man with all the respect and regard that _he deserves_ ,” she drawls, tapping one black lace-gloved hand pointedly against the table in front of him. 

“I am!” David protests. “And why would you assume I wasn’t? Why wouldn’t you assume that he’s the one not treating _me_ with respect and regard? I’m your _son_.”

“Mmmm, so there is something wrong, then. I fancied I could sense some wee contretemps between you.”

“There’s no contretemps!” David attempts to glare daggers at her, but she’s built up an immunity over time and simply watches him knowingly.

“Oh, David, you _are_ my son, and I’ve never seen you so happy. I just wouldn’t want anything to disrupt that.”

Sighing, David looks back down at his food. “Nothing will,” he says, then looks back up to meet her eyes. There’s something strangely calm and demanding in them, and he feels himself surge, suddenly, with the desire to stop feeling sorry for himself and just . . . be mature, or something. It’s an uncomfortable sensation.

“Nothing will,” he says again, more confidently. “I promise,” he adds, with as much force as he can muster.

She nods, satisfied. Bizarrely, David too feels buoyed by his promise, as if he’s set something in motion just by saying it.

*

“You’re not staying over at Patrick’s tonight?” Alexis pouts at him, later that evening. “Are you two in trouble?” 

“Oh my god, Alexis, no! Does everyone have to predict complete relationship catastrophe every time Patrick is out of my sight for fifteen minutes?” 

“Right, you probably do that enough on your own, good point.” 

“Uh, die in a fire, if you don’t mind.” 

Cocking her head at him, Alexis’s pout deepens. “But seriously though, is everything okay? Your threats even feel half-hearted.” She reaches out towards him loosely with a swing of her forearm, wrist limp, an airy gesture in his direction that means, in Alexis-speak, that she’s genuinely worried.

David sighs, sitting down at the little motel room table, currently covered with Alexis’s business materials. “Yes. Probably. I don’t know.” 

“Is it because you’re emotionally unavailable? Or,” she puts the tips of her fingers together and twists, like two ducks kissing. “Or, like, emotionally _too_ available?”

“No! I am the exact right degree of emotional availability. I am the Goldilocks of emotional availability.”

“Well, then _what_ , David?”

David thinks about it, really thinks about it in a way he hasn’t let himself do all day amid the catastrophizing and shame-spirals. He thinks about the wild, joyful grin Patrick gets when he’s on top, holding David’s body in place with his; about the way he and Patrick did stuff like that but they never actually _talked_ about stuff like that; about the way David kind of knew better but didn’t bring it up; about the way David assumed they were on the same page about what it all meant. Of course it makes sense that Patrick would freak out, and that David would freak out at his freak out.

In retrospect, it’s almost inevitable. But maybe not ― maybe not unfixable, he thinks. He chews on the inside of his cheek.

“I think it’s a communication issue?” he says, eventually. 

Alexis shock-gasps at him. “David! Then what are you doing talking to me!” 

“Yeah,” David mutters, standing up, finding his phone. “That is a really good question, actually.”

He texts Patrick, trying to ignore whatever additional advice Alexis is offering. 

**David:** hey so how wild is that business dinner

He expects to have to wait for a response, but stares at his phone anyway. To his surprise, Patrick texts back almost immediately.

 **Patrick:** everyone’s naked and we just broke out the candy bowl of E

 **David:** never gonna let that go huh

 **Patrick:** never ever

 **David:** well I’m glad you’re having fun

David bites his lip and stares at the screen. He could leave it there. He probably should. 

Relief and anxiety war their way through him when he sees the little dots that mean Patrick is texting him something else.

 **Patrick:** I think it’s going to wrap up early, actually  
**Patrick:** You could come over if you want, I’ll be home soon

David smiles at his phone. Then he grabs the car keys out from Alexis’s hand.

“David! I need the car tonight!” 

Alexis’s voice is behind him; Patrick’s apartment is in front of him.

 _On my way_ , he texts.

*

“So, it occurs to me that I was making some assumptions,” David says, when Patrick opens the door.

“Okay,” Patrick says.

“About our sex life,” David explains.

Patrick raises an eyebrow and leans one shoulder against the door frame. He looks relaxed and ironic, but David can see the little blush splashed across his cheeks. “You’re sure this is a conversation you want to have out in the hallway?”

“No, it’s not, thank you for inviting me in,” David says, and walks past Patrick into the apartment. Patrick spreads his hands, but steps aside.

Hearing the door shut behind him, David spins on his heel, intending to confront Patrick with an apology, an explanation, an accusation, some kind of speech that will sum up the tangle of emotions inside him. But as he turns, Patrick catches David’s hands in his, steps into his space, leans in close, and kisses him.

David didn’t realize how much tension he was carrying in his shoulders until that hot, deep, honest kiss starts to ratchet him towards relaxation again. 

“I love you,” Patrick says, softly, as he pulls away.

“Love you too,” David says. It takes him a few seconds to blink his eyes back open. “I’m sorry if I pushed you.”

Patrick shakes his head. “It wasn’t ― it’s not like I hadn’t noticed, that you liked it when I . . . took charge, or held you in place. I liked it too. Kind of spent the whole day, admitting that to myself.”

“Oh.” And here David had thought he was the only one spending the day worrying. It had not occurred to him at all that _I need to think it over_ actually meant _I need to think it over_ and not _I need to figure out how to let you down easy_.

“Sorry I took so long. I think before, I was, well.” He fidgets, coughs. David watches, fascinated. Patrick is so rarely flustered. “I was just trying not to think about it at all. If it didn’t exist, I didn’t have to deal with it, you know?”

“Okay,” David says, slowly, running his hands up Patrick’s arms to his shoulders. “Okay, but it’s sex. It should be fun, it shouldn’t be something to have to deal with.”

Patrick laughs a little. “David, if I hadn’t spent some time dealing with my feelings about sex, I’d be married to Rachel right now.”

David winces. Patrick kisses his neck, softly, then puts his lips to David’s ear. 

“I love where we are. I want to keep us moving forward.” 

“That sounds . . . healthy,” David says, wrapping his arms around Patrick’s neck. Patrick wraps his arms around David’s waist. They fit together like this, have always fit together like this.

Patrick glances up at him from under his eyelashes, determined. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it, once I started. About doing ― what you said. I had to duck out of that business dinner early because I wanted to come back here with you and ask if you want to, to try some things out.”

“Oh, well,” David replies, looking down into Patrick’s eyes. “I would be very happy to try some things out, yes, thank you. Did you have any particular things in mind?”

“Well, I heard somewhere that you want me to hold you down. And make you take my cock,” Patrick says. His voice is mostly a sensual murmur, only a slight crack on the last couple of words. Brave little turtle. 

David wonders, wildly, if he’s been practicing that all day. He thinks for a beautiful moment that maybe there’s a human being in the world who cares about him enough, and wants him enough, to practice that all day. The idea makes him dizzy, bold.

David moves forward so that his body is flush up against Patrick’s. “Oh, I definitely did hear that somewhere,” he agrees. He pulls his head back a little so he can see Patrick’s face.

“You might have to, ah. Help me out. Talk me through it. It’s all pretty new.” That little blush again. David could just eat it.

He represses a smile, his pursed lips sliding to one side of his face. “Hmmm, I think I can do that. But I’m not sure it’s really all that that new. You’ve been doing pretty well on your own up till now.”

“Yeah?”

David nods firmly, reveling in the hope in Patrick’s eyes, in the pure relief he feels now that they’re finally talking about it. He takes another breath and says: “I loved all those times when you put me where you wanted me, or held me in place. And that one time you blew me and teased me and wouldn’t let me come for ages.”

He feels Patrick’s next shuddery breath as much as he hears it, but it’s still a surprise when Patrick ducks his head, buries his face against David’s chest. 

“I think about that time a lot,” David adds, making his voice as low and rumbly as he can. Patrick kisses his throat so gently that it makes David’s heart hurt. 

“Yeah, in retrospect, I guess that was a clue. I think . . . I think it’s because I wanted it so much. That I was afraid to talk about it. I’ve never felt this way before.”

David thinks that’s not surprising, if all of Patrick’s previous relationships involved very polite and respectful sex with women he wasn’t attracted to, but he doesn’t say so. He pets Patrick’s hair.

“We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with,” David says. “But I want you to have what you want. I want that so much.” He does, and that’s part of the ache inside him, the itch: wanting to see Patrick through to where he needs to go. Wanting to go with him.

“I want to ―” Patrick says, and David can feel how hard it is for him to get even that first part of the sentence out. 

“Want to what?” David pushes, because he’s not letting either of them get away with avoiding talking about it again.

Patrick groans. “I want to ― God, David, it’s hard to say.”

David kisses his nose. “I love you. I like it. Tell me.”

A long silence, and then: “I want to ― sometimes I want to tell you what to do, or I want to hold you still, or tie you up. I think about tying you up. I’d love to have time to do whatever I want to you. And now that you mention it, I _definitely_ want to do that thing where I don’t let you come again.”

David grins, and Patrick grins back at him, gaining confidence. 

“I want to watch you give yourself up to me. Or ― or maybe make you beg, if you’d like that. I don’t ― it does something to me, David, thinking about that. Thinking about you . . . giving me that kind of trust.” 

It does something to David, too. “We can make that happen. Let’s make that happen.”

Patrick kisses him again, fast and desperate, and it’s a powerful feeling, to be the reason Patrick loses his cool and just takes David’s mouth. David opens beneath him.

They walk each other towards the bed, just like so many other nights, a step and a kiss and a turn, another step, another kiss, another turn: it takes a while but David gets lost in the familiarity of it, this dance they’ve done so many times. When they finally arrive, they’re grinning into their kisses, exhilarated by the thought of the step they’re about to take.

David’s starting to feel a little more comfortable again.

“I feel like I should ask you for some boundaries, or give you some,” Patrick says, kissing his jaw softly. David tilts his head back. “But I also worry that your boundaries will scare the hell out of me.”

David’s had that same exact thought, and it hadn’t been a pleasant one. But Patrick worked up his courage and asked him if he should _hold him down and make him take his cock_ , which was nowhere near beginner-level dirty talk, and Patrick mentioned _bondage_ all on his own, when David’s pretty sure he’s never seen the inside of a single leather cuff. David can be brave too.

“I want you to know,” he says, eventually.

Patrick nods, and when he speaks, his voice is breathy, quiet. “Tell me what you like.”

Once he starts, it’s easy, the speech a familiar rhythm from days gone by, when he used to say the same words to strangers and not care at all if it made them leave: “No cutting or breaking my skin. No bodily fluids other than those absolutely necessary. Minimal pain, maximum control. Dirty talk, immobilization, and hairpulling are all a strong yes. The orgasm denial thing and the begging thing? Mmmm, _very_ much a yes as well. You can tell me what to do. Don’t hit me. Stop if I tell you to stop.”

Patrick’s eyes widen, and his mouth drops open, but he doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. David closes one eye tight, the way he would while watching a horror movie, waiting for whatever comes next.

Quietly, Patrick says, “I’ll stop if you tell me to stop, David.”

For no reason at all, this sends a shiver up David’s spine. “Good,” he says, his voice coming out soft and scratchy. He kisses Patrick again.

Against his mouth, Patrick murmurs, “Since when exactly do you like being told what to do, though?” 

David feels his heart beat a little harder. That’s the sass that first made David take notice of him. He bites Patrick’s earlobe in warning. “Since we’re in the bedroom and not at the store, and you’re trying to get me off, not second-guessing my creative genius.”

“Oh, I see. Your creative genius.” 

David nods seriously, biting his lip. 

“Get on the bed, David,” Patrick says. He’s breathing hard. His voice is low. David’s whole body feels like it’s on fire, and they haven’t even taken their clothes off yet.

David holds eye contact and lets himself fall into a sitting position on the bed, hands spread out flat on the covers on either side of him.

“God.” Patrick’s voice is low. “I can’t tell you what it does to me when you ― when you do that.”

“When I do what?” David leans back a little, letting his shoulders roll back too. His knees fall open, he hopes invitingly.

“You must know what you look like.” Patrick takes a step towards him, standing between David’s legs.

“You must know I want to be told,” David shoots back. 

“Yeah,” Patrick says slowly, “I guess I do,” and takes David’s mouth. He kisses deep and rough and draws a moan out of David’s throat. “You’re gorgeous like this.” He licks his lips, then looks up, meeting David’s gaze. After a long moment he adds, “When you’re all spread out for me.”

“Oh, I like that idea. Like I’m a cheese plate.” 

Patrick laughs helplessly, face pressed to the top of David’s head, then leans down and kisses him again and again. David smiles into it. After a while, Patrick pulls back long enough to carefully strip David of his sweater and t-shirt. David lifts his arms up and lets Patrick expose his skin.

“Can you tell me what else you like?” Patrick asks, when he’s placed David’s clothes neatly on a nearby chair. He sounds hesitant.

“Hmm,” David muses. He’s gathering that the question is really _what should I do next_ , so he decides to throw Patrick an easy ball, or whatever the baseball metaphor is. “I like it when you hold me down. I like your weight on me.”

Slowly, Patrick leans forward, forcing David to lean backwards until his bare back hits the cool sheets. Patrick straddles his hips, his hands flowing up along David’s arms. He ends with his hands gently covering David’s wrists. Looking up, David sees wonder in his eyes, wonder like he saw the first time they kissed, the first time they had sex. He smiles.

“That’s nice. I like when you pin my wrists, too.” 

Patrick nods, mouth open, breathing fast: David feels the pressure against his wrists increase. It feels good, so good, better than it ever did before when Patrick did it without warning or invitation: this time, David knows that Patrick understands exactly what this means for him. This time, he knows that Patrick is getting off on it too. He pushes up against Patrick’s grip, just experimentally, and Patrick holds him fast.

“You ― you like holding me down?” David asks. Patrick kisses him fiercely.

“Yeah. And I like that you want me to hold you down,” he says. 

“So, you gonna strip me naked and ravish me now?” David arches an eyebrow. Patrick gets a narrowed, calculating look in his eyes, the one he gets about tax loopholes and grant money, and because David is completely fucking ridiculous, it’s that look and not their physical position that makes his dick go from _getting there_ to _yes please now_ in a few short seconds. His jeans are very much in the way all of a sudden.

“No,” Patrick says, and sits up, still straddling David’s hips. David moves to sit up with him, but then feels Patrick’s hand push against his bare chest. “Stay down,” he says.

“Oh,” David says. He’s lost for words, but his body obeys, falling back against the bed.

“Yeah,” Patrick says. “Let me ― I’m gonna try something.”

“Okay,” David says. He takes a shaky breath. “I trust you.”

Patrick’s smile is so, so beautiful as he runs his hands up David’s thighs.

“Take the rest of it off, David,” he says.

The jeans take a little squirming to get down his legs and David knows it’s not his sexiest moment; Patrick helps him out at the ankles and makes quick work of his socks, too, so that David’s down to his underwear, cock straining against the soft, clinging designer fabric. Patrick runs his hands back up David’s thighs, then, and David has to roll his hips up to meet that touch. But Patrick stops short of his dick, instead tugging his underwear down and off.

David’s naked, and Patrick hasn’t even undone the top button of his button-up shirt. He squirms. 

“You gonna join me here, or what?” David demands.

“Shhh,” Patrick says. “I thought I was the one giving the orders.” His smile and his tone are teasing, the way he always teases, and David’s seriously going to have an entire heart attack if this keeps up. He doesn’t mind. 

He grabs Patrick’s hand and kisses it in apology. “Probably better for you to grasp early on that I’m kind of a bratty sub. So if you want me to listen, you might have to make me.”

Patrick nods, his breathing coming a little harder. He kneels on the bed over David, his pants and shirt scratchy against David’s bare skin.

“So you want me to make you shut up? Should I be getting you a gag?”

David freezes. “Oh, uh, no,” he says immediately, before he can think better of it. Patrick draws back a little, and David closes his eyes in frustration. “Don’t go, don’t stop, but, I really do _not_ like that. Sorry. Sorry. It should be on my list.” He opens his eyes again, wincing, but Patrick is just nodding thoughtfully. David licks his lips and brings himself to continue: “Nothing in my mouth, please. Um. Except for.” He darts a glance down at the crotch of Patrick’s pants, then back up again.

Patrick laughs, running his hands over David’s thighs again. Like David saying no hasn’t changed anything between them. “Yeah, okay, I can work with that. I like your mouth, anyhow. It’s fine with me if you want to get snippy.”

“Excuse me, snippy?” 

“Yeah,” Patrick says, warmly. “Like that.” And he leans down to kiss David full and lush on the mouth. David can’t do anything but react, surge upwards against him and return the same kiss back to Patrick.

Patrick pins his wrists again, and David struggles against him again, and they get a nice rhythm going, all rebellion and restraint, while they kiss ever slower and deeper. 

“So,” Patrick says breathlessly, a while later, “there’s something I’ve been thinking of. That I want you to do.”

“Oh, I’m listening,” David replies. He opens his eyes slowly; even just this little practically-vanilla game of Patrick holding him down is making him feel fuzzy and bone-deep _good_. He can’t wait for more.

Meanwhile, Patrick’s shifting up and away, just a little, so that David can still feel his heat but there’s enough space between them to talk. 

“I really want to watch you jerk yourself off,” Patrick says. His mouth is wet and gleaming.

It’s not quite the level of domination David was hoping for this evening. He tries not to frown and reminds himself that it’s good to take things slow. 

“Okay. And what will you be doing, while I get myself off?” he asks.

Patrick kisses him deeply, suddenly, like he’s so turned on just by the idea that he can’t stop himself. If this watching-him-masturbate thing is that exciting for him, David’s a lot more interested in it.

“I’ll be telling you what to do. I want to make you beg.”

David would swear he can feel his pupils dilating. “Oh, okay,” he says, faintly. “That sounds _very_ nice.”

Patrick rolls off so he’s next to David on the bed, his belly about even with David’s face. He’s still in his clothes ― button-up shirt, suit pants, even his fucking belt ― and the contrast between that and David’s naked, exposed body is somehow thrilling. He runs his hand over the front of Patrick’s pants. They’re the same ones, David’s pretty sure, that he wore to David’s birthday dinner over a year ago.

“You gonna stay all dressed up while this is happening?” David asks. He trails his fingertips over the shape of Patrick’s dick, half-hard under the rough polyester. Patrick doesn’t stop him, and when David looks up his eyes are closed and he’s swallowing hard. David quickly strips off his belt and undoes his fly; Patrick doesn’t stop him, so he pushes down his underwear and pulls Patrick’s dick out, bending his head to suck it into his mouth. 

Patrick’s hand finds his head, and for a moment his fingers just rub gentle circles against his scalp; then, suddenly, his grip tightens, pulling hard on David’s hair. 

David groans as Patrick pulls him up again. 

“David. God. Stop it,” Patrick manages, as his dick slides out of David’s mouth. 

“You don’t want me to suck you off?” David asks innocently, looking up through his lashes. Patrick’s hand tightens again in his hair and it feels so fucking wonderful that David’s mouth drops open and his eyes close on their own. He thinks he makes an embarrassing noise.

“I want you to do what I told you to do,” Patrick says. David shivers. His skin is hot. 

“I don’t recall hearing an order,” he replies. He licks his lips, looking down at Patrick’s hard cock where it’s pressing against the tails of his shirt.

“Turn over and lie back against me,” Patrick says, giving him one last hard tug. It sends a wave of tingly shock from David’s scalp all the way down to his toes. He does as he’s told.

Shuffling back on the bed, he gets his head on Patrick’s shoulder while Patrick opens his legs around him. He can feel Patrick’s dick, hard, trapped against his back, an obscene press of skin to skin amid all the fabric between them.

David’s about to ask Patrick _what next_ when Patrick’s right arm snakes around David’s side and Patrick’s hand grips his wrist. 

“Now, I have to say, David, it seems a little inefficient for me to hold your wrists all the time. So I’m gonna ask you to put your right hand on your thigh and keep it there.”

“Oh, I see, you’ve got a whole _plan_.” David squirms a little, shifting his thighs impatiently. 

“You know I like to plan things,” Patrick replies. “Say you’ll do it.”

David nods. “I’ll do it.”

Patrick lets go of his wrist, and David is sorely tempted to put it on his dick, but instead he rests it palm-down on his thigh, like Patrick said.

“Good, hold it there,” Patrick says, and kisses him below his ear, like a reward. David reminds himself to breathe. He hopes he can last long enough to be worthy of Patrick’s plan, because right now he’s worried he’ll come on the first stroke. “Now put your left hand on your left thigh.”

“This is feeling less like sex and more like a game of twister,” David complains, and gets a little scrape of Patrick’s teeth against his neck this time. He puts his left hand on his left thigh.

“Stroke yourself. Don’t touch your cock yet.” A soft murmur against David’s ear. Patrick’s left hand starts moving on David’s forearm, encouraging him to rub up and down against his thigh. He follows the motion of Patrick’s hand, letting his palm move up and down to the rhythm Patrick sets.

“Use your fingernails,” Patrick says, in his ear. David does, adding that light scratch to the soft stroking. It feels strangely intense. The sensation of his own hand rubbing up and down his own thigh shouldn’t be doing what it’s doing to him: setting off little sparks of pleasure that shudder throughout his body, making his dick throb in anticipation. He’s been less turned on by fucking. It’s ridiculous. 

He gets lost in the feeling, Patrick all around him and that one touch of his own hand on his thigh.

Patrick’s voice interrupts the silence. “You doing okay?” he asks quietly, and his voice doesn’t have some of the confidence it did a minute ago. “This working for you?”

“Yeah,” David breathes. He leans back against Patrick’s shoulder, and Patrick leans forward against him in response. “I love it. I’m eager to learn about the next steps of the plan.”

Patrick’s hands trail down his arms and then back up to his biceps, just stroking. “Okay.”

Behind him, Patrick’s body is warm and comfortable. David thinks about how far he’s come today, how much he’s done. It can’t be easy, he thinks, to have said and done all these things for the first time.

“I’ll ― I’ll tell you if it’s not working for me,” David says, haltingly. 

Patrick squeezes his arms briefly, like a hug. “Will you?”

“Yeah,” David says, finding to his surprise that it’s true. “I will. You don’t have to worry. I’ll stop you if it’s not good. I promise.”

He feels Patrick’s forehead land against the back of his neck, then his lips press against the skin below. “Good,” he says. “Thank you.”

David waits; after a moment, Patrick’s head comes up again and his hands run down David’s forearms. Patrick takes hold of his right hand and squeezes a little lube into it, tossing the bottle back down on the bed and then using his fingers to move the slick around David’s palm.

“Keep stroking, David,” he says. David realizes that his left hand stopped on his thigh the moment Patrick broke out the lube. 

“I was distracted,” he complains, but starts stroking again. 

Finished with the lube, Patrick slides his hand down to David’s wrist and holds it tight, not actually letting him do anything with it. 

“Patrick,” David says, after a while. His voice sounds higher than usual, reedy. 

“Yeah?” Patrick’s lips graze David’s ear.

“So, what’s the next step?” He tries for a cheery, bubbly, curious tone, but that just gets him a low chuckle against his neck. 

“Are you asking me to let you go on to the next step? Because I think you should ask what you mean to ask.”

“Nnnnngghhh,” David groans, frustrated. “Patrick. Let me touch myself. Please.” He feels Patrick’s quick intake of breath to speak, and immediately cuts him off: “And don’t say I’m already touching myself.”

“Well,” Patrick says. “I suppose we can go to that step, since you asked nicely. Put your hand on your dick, David.”

The pressure around David’s wrist is gone, suddenly, and David sighs with relief as he wraps his slick hand around himself.

“Don’t move yet,” Patrick warns. David lets his head thunk back against Patrick’s shoulder. He wants to move his hand, his hips, wants to thrust and get himself off; instead he doesn’t even tighten his grip, keeping his hand as soft and loose as it was when Patrick told him not to move. 

“God, you’re really good at this,” David says. “I hate you.”

“I actually have it on good authority that you love me,” Patrick says, reasonably. The fact that he’s using his _no, that’s scheduled for Thursday, today’s the day to pick up the new sweaters_ voice when David can feel his hard cock pressed against his back, when David can feel him wanting to shift and thrust too, just makes the whole thing hotter. He lets out a shaky breath.

And waits.

Patrick’s left hand guides David’s, keeping up the slow stroking motion on his thigh. 

A year later, a decade, an entire ice age later, Patrick says, “Tighten up.”

David groans as he does so, the squeeze of his slick hand around himself almost more than he can take after so much deprivation.

It’s nowhere near enough, though; he tries to be good and not squirm but he wants so fucking badly to fuck his own fist and he can feel Patrick rubbing up against his back and his hips start to move anyway, rocking up against his own grip.

“Shhhh, shhhh, stop stop stop,” Patrick’s voice comes in his ear. “Stop, hold still, stop. You can do it. Stop. You got this.”

David gasps and somehow, miraculously, does it, his whole body thrumming like a taut, plucked bowstring, but still now, holding still. 

“Fuck, Patrick, fuck, I can’t ― ”

“You can. Hold still, baby.”

That only makes it worse, because Patrick only calls him _baby_ when he’s really turned on, really not thinking about his words anymore, and knowing that and hearing that just makes David want _more_ and _now_. 

He holds still.

“Okay. That’s so good. Now run your hand up and down. Thumb over the tip, that’s right. Is your hand nice and wet?”

“Y ― yeah,” David says. The fluttering motion of his thumb is gorgeous and perfect and over far too soon. 

“Go again. Slower.” 

David does, or thinks he does; he’s so desperate now that he can’t be entirely sure about the normal passage of time. “You like me giving you a show,” he says, half statement of fact and half accusation.

“I love you giving me a show,” Patrick replies, immediately. “I love that I’m the one who gets to see you like this.”

Groaning, David pauses his hand, waiting for the next order.

“Three strokes, then pause,” Patrick says. It’s even worse than the last time, in that it almost feels like a rhythm before it stops again; David pants in disappointment at the end of it.

Patrick flutters a kiss to his temple. “You look so good, baby.”

“When’re you gonna ― when’re you gonna let me come,” David says, his voice too punctuated by breath for it to be a real question.

“God, David, you’re so beautiful like this. Do you know how beautiful you are?” 

David laughs, smiles, tries not to thrust into his own tight grip. “That’s nice, honey, what about the question I asked you?”

“Oh, I think you know the answer to that one,” Patrick says. His voice is low and sexy and David loves him so very much. “Beg for it.”

“Please,” the word falling from David’s mouth before he can consciously react, like a reflex, like air knocked out of his lungs, “please, Patrick, please, let me move, let me come, please ― ”

“Jesus,” Patrick breathes. “Fucking ― _Christ_.”

“Let me, let me, let me, please, Patrick, please, let me ―”

“God. You’re being so good, David. Yeah. God. Do it.”

David wants to take those words and run with them, or at least move his hand really fast with them, but he can’t quite bring himself to do it; he wants more from Patrick. An explicit order.

“Do what?”

Patrick’s desperate, muttered _fuck_ , when it arrives with his breath against David’s ear, is more satisfying than most orgasms. David pushes his shoulders back, desperate to touch him more, feel him more, surrounding David with his body.

“Fuck your fist. Go hard and fast.”

“Mmm-hmm, yes, yessir.” David does just that, his hips lifting up to meet his fast-moving hand, and as the pressure and pleasure begin to build from his bones he hears Patrick’s helpless chuckle, feels Patrick’s lips on his skin, Patrick’s arms around him stroking and petting.

“I just want you to come apart for me,” Patrick says, his voice hoarse. “Want to ― want to watch you lose it, David. You look so beautiful like this.”

This last said with such deep, desperate sincerity that it makes David cry out and surge up into his own hand.

Patrick’s fingers steal into his hair and tug, not too gently. “Faster,” he says. “Harder.”

David swallows, and gasps, and goes faster, harder, until it feels rough and just on the edge of painful. He feels the orgasm building inside him and closes his eyes tight, letting himself focus on the feeling of his body secure and enclosed by Patrick’s arms. 

“You wanna come, David?” Patrick asks, softly. David just whines and nods his head, not stopping the motion of his hand.

“Say please one more time.”

“ _Please_ ,” David moans, and comes for what feels like a long time, comes so hard that it feels like his head is being turned inside out and rearranged, comes until his body finally tingles back into existence.

“Wowwwww,” he says, slowly, and Patrick full-on laughs behind him, burying his face against David’s shoulder, then wrapping his arms around him to hold him tight. 

Some time passes; David’s not sure how much. He feels Patrick cleaning him up with a soft cloth from the nightstand, but by then his eyes have already closed involuntarily. He basks, for a little while, in the warm heavy feeling in his limbs. His brain feels fuzzy and quiet.

Eventually, Patrick breaks the silence. “So I take it that was okay?”

David’s limbs aren’t working that well yet, but he manages to scramble, ungainly, until he’s flipped himself over, then throws himself into Patrick’s lap and kisses him, deep and messy. Patrick’s mouth feels desperate against his, vulnerable.

“That was fucking fantastic,” David breathes against him. “You sure you’ve never done that before?”

“Well. I might’ve had a stray fantasy or two,” Patrick admits. David grins and kisses him again. Patrick’s cock is pressing against his thigh, and David doesn’t hesitate to wrap his hand around it.

“What else have you been fantasizing about?”

“I, uh, I believe there was some talk of me ― holding you down ― ”

“And making me take your cock?” David asks, stroking him slowly.

“Yeah. That.” Patrick meets his eyes, all open and clear. “But, uh, to be honest, I’m not sure I’m gonna make it that long.”

“Save that one for another day,” David agrees. He can’t stop smiling; Patrick is hard, and sweating, and squirming against David’s hand, all from ordering him around a bit and watching him jerk himself off. It’s _very_ flattering.

“I did hold you down earlier,” Patrick offers, smiling and breathless. 

“Mmm. You did. We could do it in two parts.” Shuffling down the bed, David takes Patrick’s dick in his mouth again. He’s done this for Patrick a hundred times, but this time it feels a little different, with this new energy between them. David feels like he’s glowing with it, lit up from the inside with the way Patrick made him feel.

“Ah, God, David, yes,” Patrick gasps, as his hands bury themselves in David’s hair, petting but not pulling like he did before.

Patrick’s always been a complete gentleman during blowjobs: careful, polite, giving ample warning when he gets close. David’s always thought that it was sweet, but now he wonders if Patrick was holding himself back. He pulls off for a moment, using his hand instead to give Patrick some friction.

“You can keep pulling my hair, if you want,” David suggests. He feels suddenly shy, looking up at Patrick, who’s blinking down at him. He swallows. “You can fuck my face. Hold my head. Come in my mouth. If you want to.”

He moves his hand on Patrick’s dick while he talks, root to tip, squeezing and twisting slowly, just the way he knows Patrick likes. 

“That’s not ― that’s not very nice,” Patrick says. 

“Well.” David frowns. Maybe he should just go back to the regular blowjob. “I’m not very nice.”

Patrick’s hand comes up to cup David’s jaw, his thumb stroking over David’s cheek. David’s hand stops moving on Patrick’s dick.

“You’re perfect,” Patrick says.

David suppresses the big, messy emotion that bubbles up in his chest at that; he really doesn’t want to ruin this by crying. Maybe he’ll cry later. Maybe he’ll even tell Patrick why. “Okay,” he says, eventually.

“I just mean ― are you sure? Because, you know, doing it to get you off is one thing, but I don’t want to be ― that feels so selfish.”

Smiling, David shakes his head. This one, he knows how to deal with. “You get to be selfish, sometimes. You can take what you want.”

“Not if you don’t like it,” Patrick insists. David sighs; he has literally never had this much argument about whether a guy should fuck his mouth. Or any argument at all, really. They usually just get to it. He smiles softly and gives Patrick’s cock a little friendly squeeze.

“I do like it,” he hears himself saying. “I like it when you get selfish. You’re usually so controlled. The idea of seeing you let go and take what you want? Is a huge turn-on for me. Why do you think I like you holding me down?”

“Come up here, come here a minute,” Patrick says, tugging on David’s shoulders, and David crawls up the bed until they’re face to face. Patrick kisses him, hard, deep, and his hands come up to gently hold David’s face, like David is something precious.

When they break apart, Patrick searches his eyes. “How will I know if something isn’t working for you?” The _when I’m holding your head and shoving my cock in your mouth_ part is implied. David feels a little shiver of anticipation move through him. He never thought he’d get to have this.

“I’ll tap on your leg three times, like this,” he says, demonstrating with his index and middle fingers on Patrick’s thigh. David’s explained this safe signal to many, many partners over the years, but he’s never really felt the need to use it. It does make people feel better, though.

“Okay,” Patrick says, letting out a shuddering breath. “Okay, yeah. Let’s do it.”

David folds his hands on Patrick’s chest and rests his chin on his hands. “Wanna give me some direction? I seem to have lost my way to your cock.”

Patrick grins and slides his hand into David’s hair, slowly, tenderly. David closes his eyes briefly as Patrick’s hand clenches into a fist and he starts to pull David roughly downward. The sensation is gorgeous, the tight pull against his scalp, and even better is the meaning behind it, Patrick being willing to just put him where he wants him to go.

When Patrick lets go, David takes a minute to unbutton Patrick’s shirt and to finally peel off his suit pants, underwear, and socks. Patrick sits up to help, ditching his shirt behind him on the bed. Eventually, David ends up on his knees on the rug next to the bed, between Patrick’s legs, naked, licking his lips and looking up to see how he’s doing. Patrick smiles down at him and wraps a slow hand around the back of David’s head. He pulls him forward, not very hard but not gently, either, until David’s mouth is up against his cock.

“Suck me.” He’s already breathing hard; David’s fairly sure he’s never said those words before in his life, at least not without a _please_. God, David loves him like this.

He surrenders to the pressure of Patrick’s hand on his neck and opens his mouth, letting Patrick guide him down his cock. Looking up, he gives Patrick a tiny nod ― the most he can do from this position ― and Patrick inhales sharply and nods back. Slowly at first, then with increasing speed and force, Patrick lifts his hips, fucking up into David’s mouth. His left hand lands in David’s hair, clenching and pulling rhythmically, in time with his thrusts. David sucks a little but mostly just lets himself be open, lets Patrick set the pace, lets Patrick’s hands on his head move him up and down in time with his hips.

“Gonna fuck you,” Patrick says, his breath shuddering out of him. “God, David, I wanna just ― take you ― ”

David hums his approval; if he weren’t already so wrung out from what Patrick did to him earlier, he’d be getting hard again. As it is, he just feels _good_ at some bone-deep level, wanted and used as Patrick’s thrusts grow harder, more erratic, pushing all the way into David’s mouth. David breathes through his nose and swallows around him.

He goes a little too hard, and David’s eyes start to water; then he does it again, almost making him cough and really killing the buzz. David considers just toughing it out for a few long seconds, but then finds himself, to his own surprise, tapping three times on the side of Patrick’s thigh.

Patrick lets go and pulls out immediately, which is very sweet.

“What? Are you okay?” He looks wild, halfway between orgasm and panic, so David soothes his hands over his thighs.

“Just a little too hard, there,” he confesses. It’s not even difficult to say. “I can’t take it quite that hard if you’re going that deep. I am loving this, though. Love your hands in my hair. You’re doing so good.”

“Okay.” Patrick nods. “Okay. You, you too, you’re amazing.” His hand strokes through David’s hair and down over his cheek. “This is amazing.” 

David’s about to go down again when a thought strikes him. He smiles lopsidedly up at Patrick. “Tell me you’re gonna make me take your cock,” he says. Patrick huffs out a laugh, all joy, and wraps his hands around the base of David’s skull, pulling him forward.

“I’m gonna make you take my cock, David,” he murmurs, quietly. “Gonna make you suck me off.”

David lets Patrick guide him back down, gives up his body to the strong, sure pressure of Patrick’s hands on his head, in his hair, behind his ears. Once he’s down, Patrick holds him in place, not letting him move or back off, his grip like iron. David squirms and takes it.

“Gonna fuck your mouth,” Patrick intones. David moans in his throat while Patrick rocks himself up into David’s mouth, faster and faster until all David can feel are Patrick’s hands on his head, Patrick’s cock filling up his mouth, his whole world narrowed down to the place where Patrick’s fucking him. He tries to keep up, tries to suck, to use his tongue, but Patrick’s going so fast that all David can really do is relax and open for him. He lets Patrick take him.

After a while, Patrick groans and his hands tighten in David’s hair, and David thinks he’s coming, but then he gasps and thrusts again. “I ― I wanted this,” he says. His hands are still guiding David’s head but they’re shaking now, out of control. “I wanted to hold you still and take you, just like this, David, I wanted this ― ”

David wishes he could respond and reassure him, but all he can do is take it, take it, Patrick’s dick rocking in and out of his mouth, Patrick taking what he wants and trusting David to give it up to him. David wants to say _come in my mouth, come on, do it_ , but Patrick is holding him still; all he can do is think it really hard. 

Patrick does, though, his shaking hands twisting up in David’s hair and fucking _pulling_ hard, holding David’s face down against him, stilling the motion of his hips as he comes and comes into David’s mouth. David does his best to swallow. He hates a mess.

He takes a few more rough breaths through his nose, waiting for Patrick’s hands to unclench and let him up again. After a moment, they do; David withdraws slowly, giving Patrick’s dick a little kiss as it pops out of his mouth. He gets back up, running his hands up Patrick’s thighs and then his chest as he climbs back onto the bed. Patrick falls backwards beneath him, so David ends up lying on top of him.

“You okay?” is the first thing Patrick says. David smiles.

“I’m perfect,” he says, surprised as he does so at how creaky his voice is. “Wow. You fucked me hoarse.” 

Patrick’s startled into a laugh, and then his arms come up around David in a tight, fierce hug. “You were so good. Oh my God.” 

David snuggles down next to him and kisses his jaw. “ _You_ were so good,” he argues, voice breaking a little. Damn, he is definitely going to need some tea with lemon and honey. He’ll ask Patrick to get it for him in a minute.

For now, though, he basks in the warm glow of Patrick’s skin against his, in the way their bodies fit together. Fit together even better, maybe.

“So, I know that probably wasn’t everything you were looking for,” Patrick says, into the quiet. “It’ll take me some time to work up to other stuff.”

“We’ll work up to it together,” David says, snuggling in a little harder. He thinks about it. “What’s the other stuff?”

“I ― don’t know,” Patrick says, half-laughing as he blows out a breath. “I think I need to see a menu.” David grins. “I do, uh, wonder what you think about being tied up.”

“I think it’s a _very_ nice idea for date night,” David says. “And I think I have a box back at the motel you might be interested in.” When Canada Revenue had put him in the position of choosing a limited set of personal items to escape seizure, David had chosen his clothes, his toiletries, and his sex toys. A lot of them were very expensive.

“Okay.” Patrick kisses the top of his head. “How come you never pulled it out before?”

“Um. I didn’t want to push, at first. You were so new. Coltish. Skittish.”

Patrick pokes him in the neck. “And later?”

Sighing, David looks up and meets his eyes. “I don’t know. I guess I thought ― things were fine. Our sex life was good. You seemed happy.”

“So you were just gonna put that part of yourself away in a box, because I seemed happy?” 

“I recognize now that I . . . should’ve done it differently,” David says, carefully. The truth is, he’s not sure he ever would’ve taken the risk, not if Patrick hadn’t been so commanding in bed to start with, not if he hadn’t let slip that little piece of dirty talk. But he wishes he had been the kind of person who could’ve done it differently, and maybe that counts for something.

“All right,” Patrick says, softly. David meets his eyes; it’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once to think that Patrick might already know, a little, why it was so hard for him. Patrick’s never fisted him in a suspension rig or ordered him to lick his boots but even so, even so, he might know him better than anyone else.

David told Patrick once that he was damaged goods, but he gets the feeling that Patrick’s never quite believed that.

“I’ll show you tomorrow,” David promises.

*

“You look happy,” Stevie says pointedly, when David strolls into the motel office the next day. “You and Patrick work out your little fight?”

David gapes. “Okay, _who told you_ that Patrick and I were having a fight?”

She shrugs, letting David’s aggrieved tone roll right over her. “Doesn’t matter. You make up?”

“We weren’t having a fight!” 

“Oh, okay. I see.” Stevie nods seriously. “Well, you certainly look chipper today for someone who had nothing happen to them yesterday.”

David leans on the motel desk in resignation. “Can’t I just be having a nice day?”

“I mean, it doesn’t seem that likely. But sure, we can go with that.”

“ _Thank_ you. Okay, so, question. When I put all my clothes in storage in the . . . honeymoon suite, there was a suitcase ― ”

“The one with all the sex toys,” Stevie says. 

“I ― pardon me?”

“I put it under the bed. Didn’t want anyone else to ever open it by accident. There was some really interesting stuff in there.”

“Oh my God, why did you look!”

“I was looking for clothes to wear, and reasonably thought they might be found in a suitcase. Instead I learned a lot about you in a very short period of time. Like, roughly ten seconds. Which I am not eager to repeat. So is that what your fight with Patrick was about?”

David purses his lips for a few seconds, then gives up. “Fine. Yes. It wasn’t a fight. But yes. And now it’s resolved and I . . . would like my suitcase, please.”

Handing over the key to the honeymoon suite, Stevie gives him a grin. “Oh, by all means. I do have some questions, though, especially about the big leather ― ”

“Yeah okay thanks I’m _going_ now,” David practically shouts as he pushes out the door. He almost runs into Alexis, who’s on her way in.

“Ew, David,” she says, pushing him out of her space.

“Ew yourself,” he says back, half-heartedly. She blinks and takes him in, and David wants to duck his head and run, though he knows it’ll do no good. Why is it that she’s so much more perceptive since moving to Schitt’s Creek? 

“Everything work out with Patrick?” she asks, twisting her lips into a teasing smile.

“Oh my God,” David mutters, and gets out of there.

*

“So, do we want to do this maybe a little bit at a time, you know, kind of ration it out . . . ?” David’s hands flutter over the suitcase. It looks a lot bigger, sitting on Patrick’s bed, than he remembered. 

“Or we could just open it,” Patrick says, reaching for the catch. David’s hands stop fluttering and come down on top of the lid, holding it in place.

“ _Or_ , just a thought, we could take a moment, think about our relationship and how much it means to both of us, and then _maybe_ just look at one or two select items ― ”

Patrick leans into David’s space, cupping David’s face in his hands. “David. I’m not gonna freak out. I did some internet research, okay? And anyway I’m a grownup, and I love you, and it’s fine.”

“Okay.” David lets out a sigh. “Okay. But, um, it’s worth noting that some items that are more . . . everyday, type things, I’ve kept in my room at the motel ― ”

“Dildos and vibrators?” 

“ _Yes_ , so this really represents the less commonly used set of implements.”

“This is all the stuff you haven’t had much opportunity to play with lately,” Patrick translates, smiling. “Let’s see.”

He pops open the lid. David half-expects a light to shine out from inside, like in _Pulp Fiction_ , but instead it looks just like it did the last time David opened it. Normal. Quotidian.

Patrick’s eyebrows go up really high, and he doesn’t speak for a long moment. “It’s so . . . well-organized,” he says, eventually, moving to sit on the bed beside the case.

David smiles nervously, sitting beside him and looking with pleasure at all the neat little leather hooks and straps that keep all the items in their designated places. He’d had this case custom made, back when that was the kind of thing he did, for ease of use and to protect all his toys from being tossed around together. 

“Everything in its place,” he says. 

Patrick reaches inside, running his hands over the many ropes, cuffs, and other bondage equipment first; after a moment, his fingers come to rest on a leather flogger. He undoes the strap holding it in place and takes it in his hand.

“I thought you said minimal pain,” he says, eyes darting up to meet David’s. He’s got a very healthy flush on his cheeks. David’s so glad he cleared his afternoon.

“Not everything in here is necessarily for use on me,” David says. He considers telling Patrick that he’s been flogged, more than enough times to know it’s not his thing, but none of those times were with this particular implement. David actually likes the memories he has with this one; it’s why he kept it. “I knew a very interesting lady who liked getting hit with that.”

“You flogged a _woman_?”

“Excuse me, that tone is sexist. And yes.” 

Patrick glances up at him again. “Did you ― like that?” 

David shrugs. “She did. I liked her ordering me to hit her. It works out. Took a lot of practice to learn how to really swing those things right, though.”

Patrick’s gaze finally locks with his, and his eyes narrow. “But you still can’t catch a baseball?” 

“Mmmm, it’s really about _motivation_ , honey.” He rubs Patrick’s back for emphasis.

“Uh-huh.” He puts it back in place. “Is that something you’d want to do again?”

David cuddles up behind Patrick and wraps his arms around his waist, settling his chin on his shoulder. “Depends. Do you think you’d like to try that? A little pain?”

“I ― ” Patrick’s quiet for a few long seconds. “I don’t know.”

“Mmkay.” They’ll figure it out, David thinks; they have time to figure it out.

Patrick points out a few more esoteric items. “What are these?”

“Thought you did some internet research.”

Patrick turns his head back and kisses him. “Shut up,” he says. David grins at him.

“Cock sheath, cock cage, dilator, and all those leather straps are actually a suspension harness. Kind of hard to use if you don’t have someone to find the studs in the wall and install the hooks for you, though.”

There’s a long beat, and then Patrick says, “I know how to find the studs in the wall.”

“Do you.”

“I’ve been known to install a hook or two.”

“Very useful information indeed.” He presses his fingers against Patrick’s jaw to tilt his head back again and kisses him, slowly.

When they break apart, Patrick looks down at his mouth and asks, “So, what’s your favourite?”

David’s surprised by the question. “Um. That’s like asking me to choose amongst my children.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve named them all, like your mother named her wigs.” 

“I ― no, I have definitely not. Done that. No.” Patrick giggles. David squeezes him a little tighter.

“Okay, how about this: which one do you most want to try out with me?”

That’s a little easier to answer; David’s had a few fantasies of his own. Slowly, he reaches out and touches one of the toys with the tip of his index finger. Patrick’s hand follows his, touching the piece with interest.

“Oh, okay. So, there’s a straight metal bar, and then . . . these cuffs go on your wrists.”

David buries his hot face against Patrick’s shoulder. “My ankles.”

“Your ― _oh_.” David can practically see the images rush through Patrick’s mind.

“Yeah,” he says.

“Well, that’s a picture,” Patrick says. David laughs with relief, unable to help himself, and Patrick kisses him then, smile to smile.

“I might wanna work up to that one,” Patrick breathes.

David nods. “We can start a little smaller.”

*

A week or so later, David shows up at Patrick’s apartment with takeout, which he sets on the counter before going over where Patrick is sitting in the chair, working on his computer. Putting his hand on Patrick’s shoulder, David glances at the screen, and is unsurprised to see him working on some kind of spreadsheet. 

“Hi,” he says, leaning down to kiss Patrick. 

“Hi,” Patrick replies, leaning up to meet him.

“That for the store?”

Patrick takes a sip of his tea, then puts the mug back down on the coaster. “Nope.”

David goes back to the counter and starts taking the food out of the bags. “So, what, then?”

“Oh, it’s an itemized list of my kinks, sorted by preference,” Patrick replies, cool as ice. David blinks and turns around to face him.

“You’re making a spreadsheet of your kinks.” 

“I am, yeah.” Patrick takes another sip of tea.

Walking back over to him, David looks at the spreadsheet in more detail. It’s apparently organized by broad categories ― _bondage, painplay_ ― and then by more specific acts and equipment. There are columns for _David Likes It_ , _I Like It_ , and _Physically Advisable_ , and those are just the ones visible on the screen at the moment. David still tries very hard not to know too much about how Excel works, but he’s pretty sure Patrick’s written _formulas_ here. Things are colour-coded.

“This is . . . thorough,” he says.

Patrick pushes his chair back and stands up, rising on his tiptoes to kiss David’s forehead. “You don’t have to look at it or anything. It’s just a way for me to, uh, work through some things. It helps me think.”

David drapes his arms over Patrick’s shoulders. “That’s good,” he offers. Patrick nods.

“I don’t ― it’s gonna be hard for me, to ask for this stuff. For a while, anyway.”

“That makes perfect sense.” 

“So I thought the spreadsheet could, you know. Give me a little encouragement. A little backup.”

David kisses him. “I’m definitely in favour of that.” 

Patrick smiles nervously. “It’s a little overwhelming, all this new stuff to explore and think about. Some of it, it’s like, there’s an immediate reaction, I know I want to do it with you. But other stuff . . . I’m not sure.”

“I’ll help you try it out,” David promises. “We’ll figure it all out together.”

“Thank you,” Patrick breathes, and kisses him, deeply, for a long time. David is really looking forward to wherever this energy is going to take them tonight.

“So, bear in mind that I am not suggesting we take action on this information right now, because right now there is delicious takeout that is going to get cold if we delay and I am _very_ much starving ― ”

“I know your rules about takeout.”

“― but what has the spreadsheet suggested for us so far?”

Patrick smiles and ducks his head, pleased. Taking David’s hand, he walks them over to the counter and pulls out some plates.

“Well, there are a few things I want to do. That I _really_ want to do. Maybe I can run ‘em by you while we eat.”

“Food and sex talk, a perfect combination,” David agrees, opening the boxes and inhaling the rich steam. He closes his eyes in pleasure.

When he opens them again, Patrick’s looking at him, head cocked. Then, suddenly, he runs back to his laptop.

“Let me just get this down,” he says.

David laughs, and dishes out his rice for him.

*

Patrick’s hands are swift and confident as he checks the knots in the rope, then checks David’s wrist cuffs to make sure they’re not too tight. He trails his fingertips over David’s skin as he goes, eventually sliding up into his hair for a soft caress. 

“You feeling good?” he asks.

“Mmmm,” David purrs. Patrick chuckles, then tugs on a lock of his hair.

“Words,” he says.

“I am in fact feeling very good,” David replies, tartly. 

“I’m so glad to hear that,” Patrick returns. His hands slide down over David’s back, his ass, covering his skin with his touch and his heat. David presses up into it.

“Greedy, greedy,” Patrick chides. He checks the cuffs of the spreader bar around David’s ankles, then grips the bar itself so that David can feel it, can feel his body being held firm by the implacable piece of metal. He’s held open, at Patrick’s mercy, face down and spread out for Patrick to take. 

Patrick kneels over him, placing a soft kiss just below his ear; when he speaks, it’s in an equally soft murmur. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard, baby. I can’t wait.” David shivers. “How’s the bar feel?” 

David smiles into the pillow. “Perfectly comfortable.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to talk to me about Schitt's Creek, I mostly live on twitter: @twwings

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic of] give away the game](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18708412) by [exmanhater](https://archiveofourown.org/users/exmanhater/pseuds/exmanhater)




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